


Untitled

by ErisDea



Category: Original Work
Genre: Heavy Angst, and remember, i need to share, my dog died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:11:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4696958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisDea/pseuds/ErisDea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ascites is the buildup of fluid in the abdomen. It can go on for years, and is a definite danger, to humans and animals. My dog, Sunday, died because of it.</p><p>This isn't a story, guys. This is me needing to immortalize my baby in some way, and to remind myself of how badly it hurts to know I'm never going to see her or hear her or hold her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Like I said, this isn't a story. This is more of a diary entry, really; I don't keep diaries anymore, nor do I do blogs, and I think--or rather, _hope_ \--that sharing this will help other people understand how serious Ascites is.

Let me start by saying this: I am so, _so_ depressed right now. Yesterday, August 30, 2015, my 6-year-old dog Sunday had to be put to sleep forever. She had Ascites, fluid buildup in the abdomen.

Sunday is a regular-sized Maltese terrier, but many in the dog business who are familiar with the Maltese breed always commented on her size. To be fair, she _i_ _s_ a little taller and wider for her breed; "big-boned," as Rubeus Hagrid said about himself.  I and my mom attributed that to overfeeding her puppy food past the time she was supposed to start eating adult dog food. One of her old vets even commented on that, saying "Oh, so that's why she's so big."

Thinking back now, I think that's why we never thought anything of the fact that she had a big belly, and looked very much like she was always pregnant. Now though, I believe that that was Ascites, the fluid inside her abdomen distending her belly. We thought it was normal and okay, because she was naturally big, so I and my family hadn't given it any serious thought for about two years now, maybe more.

But it wasn't okay. The fluid collecting in her abdomen was slowly pushing up against her organs, and we never realized it until last Friday, August 28, when she stopped eating and started walking weakly, stumbling around like she was drunk. We left her overnight at the nearby vet clinic, where they installed an IV to keep her hydrated. On Saturday morning, the vet recommended we take her to a more equipped clinic to have her blood tested and get her x-rayed, which we immediately did.

But by the time we got her to the other vet and received the diagnosis, Sunday was weak from lack of proper food, weak from her lungs being squished and thus receiving insufficient air, and weak from her heart getting pushed up against. In her state, it was inadvisable that she be operated on, which otherwise might've been the only thing that had a decent chance of saving her. Worse, the vet said she was close to cardiac arrest due to her squished organs, and suggested we leave her overnight so she can be monitored by their staff, and so they could give her diuretics to try and expel the fluid.

(I didn't know it at the time, but another good option could've been Abdominocentesis, which involves draining the fluid buildup via needle and tube. I wish I'd known about this, or that the vet had thought about it/mentioned it, because it might've helped relieve the pressure/fluid buildup and gotten her in a state that would've ensured she lived.)

By Sunday morning, my baby had suffered 3 seizures overnight, and they told my mom over the phone that we should consider euthanizing her. I refused to consider it, and searched desperately for alternatives to save her life. I tried to suggest Abdominocentesis, but they said it wouldn't help, that her condition was already irreversible. They said she was in great pain, and my parents decided we should put her to sleep to end her suffering.

She had another seizure again while my parents were saying goodbye, and I just went mute and numb and scared. I didn't know what else to say to save her and help her at the same time. I couldn't say yes to euthanizing her, because the last thing I wanted was to lose her forever, but I couldn't deny that she was in pain either. I froze up. I never said yes, but when the doctor finally came to put her to sleep, I didn't stop them either.

I couldn't even say goodbye properly. I can't remember what else I told her, but I vividly recall telling her that we were taking her home--the only truth I could say to her. I wanted to beg her to get better, to give me a sign that she didn't want to die, but at the time, I was also thinking, 'she's a dog. She won't understand.' And now, I wish I had begged her, because maybe she _would've_ understood; she was still there, after all, still fighting to stay alive, and I could've--should've--fought for her life too.

But I didn't.

Yesterday was the saddest day of my life. Nothing in my past compared to the pain of losing my Sunday. She was mine, and she knew it; when we got to the clinic, my parents and siblings greeted her first because I couldn't collect myself. I, the most aloof and hard-hearted of my family, literally burst into tears when I saw her lying in that ugly, two-decker cage, simply because I had the sudden thought that that horrible cage was where they intended to end my Sunday's life. And then, when I could finally approach her, the first thing Sunday did was the most wonderful and awful thing she had ever done:

She tried to get up and go to me.

My family was so surprised that she moved, because she hadn't reacted to them at all when they were petting her. It's the best and worst memory I have of her, the one I will treasure the most, and the one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I am so proud that she loves me that much, and I am so, _so_ devastated that I lost her.

When we first got her, it was a regular Sunday, and I didn't even really want a dog. All I wanted was that she would be named Sunday, because it was the day she joined our family and I thought it would be appropriate. I fought hard for that name to stick, until it was the only name she answered to. I don't know when she snuck in, but eventually, she'd gotten past my defenses and settled into my heart, to the point that I often joked that she was my immortal dog, that she wasn't allowed to die, because at some point, I'd fallen in love with her and realized it would hurt so much if I lost her. The not-so-funny thing is, I never really feared losing her, because the idea of her dying was so preposterous to me. I didn't truly fear losing her until the moment I saw her in that cage and realized that cage might be where she would be taken from me forever.

Everyday I saw her was a good, happy day. She never failed to make me smile, never failed to make me laugh. She wagged her tail every time she saw me, let me see how much she wanted me to be within her reach and whined when she realized I wasn't coming down to get her.

I should've gotten her. I should've gone to her  _every time she asked me to_.

I thought yesterday was the worst day of my life because I lost her. But it wasn't the worst day, just the saddest and most heartbreaking, because it was her last day and it was horrible--for her and for me, because she was suffering and I couldn't ease her pain in anyway but the most final one possible.

 _Today_ , I've come to realize, is the worst day of my life, because it's the first day that I have to live without her, and I see her everywhere, hear her everywhere... She haunts me, and I miss her so much.

I tear up every time I remember her. I start to cry every time I realize I'm never going to hear her bark again. It hurts every time I think about how I'm never going to hold her again. And I'm so scared that I'll forget how she feels, her soft, beautiful fur, her smooth-rough tongue, the sharpness of her nails, the roughness of the pads of her paws, the way she itches when I scratch that spot between her chest and left front leg...

And I'm afraid I'll forget how much I feel for her, that time will heal this wound and make her memory fade in my mind. I don't want to forget what she sounds like, how she wags her tail when she sees me or hears me, how she knows to look up at the sound of my voice because I'm calling to her from my bedroom window.

I don't want to heal.

I don't want to forget.

This pain is mine, because Sunday is mine. Always and forever.

When we brought her to the second vet, I told her that when she got better, she would stay in my room for good. Being our first dog, she's the only one who was properly house-trained, so I'd planned on bringing up a tray for her to pee and poop on. I'd bring up her food and eat with her, spoil her so rotten with toys and treats...

God, I can't stop crying over her, over the time I'd planned to spend with her and lost so easily.

I'm so _mad_ that I lost her. Mad at myself, mad at the vet, mad at my mom and dad, mad at _life_. It's not fair to lose her now. It feels sudden, even though I realize now that the Ascites must've been building up for a long while. It doesn't feel like I was warned at all, and worse, I feel like I'd been getting warnings for a long time and just didn't notice or pay enough attention to it.

I feel like I failed her, and I must have, because she's mine, and she's gone, so I didn't do enough to save her. I didn't do right by her.

 

I don't know how to end this post. I have so much to say about her, so much I want to remember and immortalize. I might add more to this, and hope it's okay to do so.

I guess, for now, I can end this by addressing you with this plea:

My Sunday was considered 'fat' and big-bellied for her breed, and she died of Ascites. There are a lot of reasons why a dog might be fat or big-bellied, but from what I read on the internet, it's better to be safe than sorry. So if the dog of someone you know has a fat dog and you know this breed of dog shouldn't be fat, tell them my story. If YOUR dog has a bloated belly, do your research about their breed. And maybe have them checked out immediately anyway. Learn from my mistake and do what I didn't: pay attention, and save your dog's life!


End file.
